


Lyf Gets Their Rights (and Their Shit) Stolen

by CertifiedPissWizard, pleasekalemenow



Series: Lyf Rights? Discuss. [1]
Category: The Bifrost Incident - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (and eventually), Canon-Typical Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, I mean honestly if you listened to TBI you know what the fuck you're into, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, Mental Health Issues, Misuse of Musical Instruments, Multi, Murder as a Flirting Technique, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Smallpox, Spoilers, TBI Spoilers, Trauma, but like. it only counts as fluff for them, idk if that's a trigger for anyone but with the sickness going about better safe than sorry?, literally I cannot stress to you enough how fucking stupid these assholes are, lyf receiving kindness: is this bullying?, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertifiedPissWizard/pseuds/CertifiedPissWizard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasekalemenow/pseuds/pleasekalemenow
Summary: Former Inspector Lyfrassir Edda doesn’t know why any of the shit that happens to them comes as a surprise at this point, but life is funny in the way it comes up with new and exciting miseries for those it deems deserving. As they fled to Hoddmimis, trying their best to outrun the destruction of reality as they know it, because the idea of being caught within that was very distinctly not fun, they did their best to avoid thinking about the destruction of reality as they know it, because the idea of thinking about that was very distinctly not fun. However, although the unraveling of creation didn’t catch up to them as they fled, something perhaps even more dangerous did: their abysmal lack of common sense.- - -Or, Lyf finds that perhaps the real cosmic horror was the feelings they repressed along the way.
Relationships: (eventually), Ivy Alexandria/Raphaella la Cognizi, Lyfrassir Edda/Ivy Alexandria, Lyfrassir Edda/Jonny D'ville, Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum, Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum/Ivy Alexandria/Raphaella la Cognizi, Lyfrassir Edda/Raphaella la Cognizi, Marius von Raum/Ivy Alexandria, Marius von Raum/Raphaella la Cognizi, Poly Mechs, The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina (referenced)
Series: Lyf Rights? Discuss. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652932
Comments: 24
Kudos: 135
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	Lyf Gets Their Rights (and Their Shit) Stolen

Former Inspector Lyfrassir Edda doesn’t know why any of the shit that happens to them comes as a surprise at this point, but life is funny in the way it comes up with new and exciting miseries for those it deems deserving. As they fled to Hoddmimis, trying their best to outrun the destruction of reality as they know it, because the idea of being caught within that was very distinctly not fun, they did their best to avoid thinking about the destruction of reality as they know it, because the idea of thinking about that was very distinctly not fun. However, although the unraveling of creation didn’t catch up to them as they fled, something perhaps even more dangerous did: their abysmal lack of common sense. 

Things were going well enough at first. (Not that that means anything, really, but it does always make things sting a bit more when they take a turn rather than starting badly.) Lyfrassir arrived on Hoddmimis without much incident, with a bit of fuel left in the tank to boot. In their manic desperation, they went through the motions of refueling, of gathering supplies, as if on autopilot. Talk to this merchant. Go find this vendor. It all blurred together, and none of it mattered, in the end, because when they returned to their ship it was gone. They frantically searched their pockets, and, sure enough, their keys were gone. Had they set them down somewhere? Had a pickpocket taken their obvious distress as a cue to target them? They couldn’t know, ultimately, but the end result was the same: they had an absurd amount of supplies, nowhere to store them, and no way off the blasted planet. They were trapped for the foreseeable future, which, considering what they were running from, couldn’t be long. 

All that is to say: Lyfrassir Edda, formerly of the New Midgard Transport Police, isn’t surprised when they find themself halfway down their second bottle of whiskey (because of _course_ this shitty dive bar is out of mead) in the first bar they happened to catch sight of—Brimir’s Place, they think it’s called. Doesn’t matter, really. They’re not certain what the plan is now; do they drink themself to death, try to find a way off this shithole, wait for Yog Sothoth to come and claim them fully? Their dreams are all undulating colors and squamous things reaching for them, grabbing them, coiling and choking and-- 

“The hell are you staring at?” Lyf comes back to themself as much as can be expected this many drinks in. On the barstool beside them, occupying the space they were just blanking through, is what has to be the tiniest sentient creature Lyf has seen in person. They would be looking over it instead of at it were it not standing on the stool, leaning against the counter. It’s bony yet bulbous, slimy feathers covering its flesh, but its ears are almost catlike, the mouth too large for its face and lacking lips, the eyes protruding and—oh shit, Lyf is _still_ staring. 

“Sorry, ‘m just—ah,” Lyf slurs, trying to collect their thoughts enough to let this thing know they weren’t meaning to stare, but at their hesitation the thing makes a face that can only be anger but is the only funny thing Lyf has seen in _months_ , since they first started fleeing, and suddenly laughter is bubbling out of their throat and they lack the presence of mind to stop it. “So, so sorry, wasn’t m—wasn't meaning to, hah, laugh, stare, just, spacing out, didn’t mean...” Another fit of laughter interrupts them—their own, unfortunately. The really shitty thing is that they aren’t even laughing at this thing, not really, not anymore, but just laughing at how fucking shitty their life has become, the absurdity of the circumstances which led them here, to a dive bar on a mining planet, passing some of the most blatant lawbreaking they’ve seen and not bothering to even file a report because who is there to report to? 

The creature in front of them knows none of this, but what Lyf doesn’t know is that this thing is only the male of its species, and of fucking _course_ it has to be the first heterosexual creature it’s encountered in the better part of a year, and its partner—well. 

The last thing Lyf really tracks is being hoisted over a massive, slimy, feathered shoulder and carried outside before the next few hours pass in a blur of bludgeoning and cutting and teeth. They sober up much, much quicker than they would like. 

At the end of it all, they find themselves coming to their senses in a modest puddle of their own blood, stripped of any decent belongings they had and their coat, lying in a ditch with a throbbing headache. As Lyf lays in the ditch, beaten, bruised, and bedraggled, they feel a decent amount of annoyance at the universe for pushing them down a path that would lead them to die there. They try to sit up again, before stopping from the pain. Perhaps, trying to sit when in a great deal of pain wasn’t their smartest idea, however, they proceed to give it another shot, because they would very much rather die in a place that is not a ditch. Even though, as ditches go, this is a rather nice one. It is, at the very least, dry. Almost makes up for the fact that they were thrown roughly into it. 

Time goes by slowly when one is lying on the ground in a ditch covered in a decent amount of one’s blood, although the bleeding has since stopped. It especially goes slowly when it starts getting cold. They force themself to try and stand again, and again, and again inbetweenst fading in and out of being fully there because of the pain. There is a small part of them that they firmly don’t listen to that says that this is where they will die, and perhaps, given there is a chance that they have been marked by Yog Sothtoh, it would be for the best.   
  
Of course, they don’t die. Stubborn that they are, they keep trying to get up. They did decide they didn’t want to stay on Hoddmimis, and dying here would count as staying. All of that means that they need to get out of this ditch that is rapidly getting colder and colder, which, on the one hand is starting to numb the pain, and on the other hand it is causing a lot of pain in their extremities. They try and sit up once more when, like a bad space penny, von Raum chooses to appear.

“Well, well, well, Inspector Lyf! What’s a distinguished individual such as yourself doing in a place like this?” The familiar voice finds Lyf falling down once again, and all at once they find that dying right here in this ditch might be preferable to whatever is surely about to happen to them. 

“Von Raum,” they grit through their teeth. “Just my luck.” 

Marius’s expression is barely visible through the din, his silhouette backlit by red neon, but Lyf can _hear_ him smirk. “More like _my_ luck—I managed to keep Jonny dead long enough to get control of the Aurora to come pick you up, but this does save us some time and fuel.” 

Like Hel the prick was coming back to get them, but frankly Lyf is too concerned about the notion of being _picked up_ by this ageless asshole to really ponder his words. “I can assure you, von Raum, I don’t need you to— _pick me up_.” 

“Then what are you doing in a ditch, Inspector?” He’s already climbing down, and that’s the _last_ thing Lyf needs— 

“I’m not a—no, I don’t need help, stay _away_ from me.” Damn it all, even as they snarl around their words, they cough bloodily and they know that has to take at least a _bit_ of the edge off. A violent shiver rips through them too, because of fucking _course_ their body has to betray them by broadcasting their condition to someone they’d very much like to just go away. 

“Of course,” Marius says, not listening to them. He kneels, holding up a torch and using it to cast a bit of light on Lyf, who flinches, blinded for a moment. “Oh, but you _are_ in a bad way. What, did you flash your badge around?” 

Lyf shrugs, looking pointedly away from him. Marius is…well, manhandling them a bit, moving them this way and that to assess their injuries, and his touch is gentler than they would have expected. Of course, it’s not like they’d ever considered it before, so they aren’t sure how they manage to be surprised. 

“Answer the question, Inspector.” His tone is dry ice: so cold it could pass for warm. Lyf shudders. 

“Some fuckers in a bar. I…don’t remember, to be honest.” 

“What bar?” 

“Brimir’s Place.” They remember that much, at least. 

Marius hums thoughtfully. He won’t say anything more about it, but the place will be mysteriously blown to bits with quite excessive force come morning. “Anything broken?” 

“Maybe a rib or two.” 

There’s a pause. Marius frowns, puts a hand to Lyf’s cheek. They don’t have the fire in them to resist. “You’re ice cold.” 

“Just now noticing that, huh?” 

“With your typical demeanor, I’m sure you can’t blame me for expecting you to be a bit icy, _Inspector_ _Lyf_.” 

Lyf has no response for that; nor do they have a response for the feeling in their gut when Marius wraps his coat around them, muttering promises of _sharing body heat_ after he’s had a moment longer to make sure they aren’t too badly injured. 

They don’t talk for a bit, Marius looking them over extensively, treating a few surface wounds with bandages and a salve from gods-know-where. His touch is tentative in a way they would have never expected, and warmth of that cautious, protective gesture alone does wonders. 

Lyf finally breaks the silence. “Are you alone?” 

“Presently, I’m with the most pretentious bloke this side of Niflheim, but they make up for their personality with stupidly good looks—“ 

“Fuck off, von Raum, you know what I meant.” If they flush slightly, the darkness covers it. 

“Still got that stick up your arse, I see.” Marius snorts. “The other Mechs are back on the Aurora. I just came out to grab—um, I came out alone. Dumb luck I found you.” His smirk is audible once more as he says, “actually, I should probably just bring you back to the Aurora now. Some of these cuts need stitches, Inspector.”

“No, I can assure you, that won’t be necessary—“ 

“I insist.” Marius stands, and as he does, he scoops Lyfrassir into his arms with ease, resulting in some stammering from them. “Consider it a favor to my _favorite_ captor.” 

This is probably the weirdest and worst way they could die—fixed up by a former prisoner for the purposes of being presumably tortured—but at this point, Lyf doesn’t really know why they bother going through the motions of being surprised by the wild shit that happens to them anymore. Marius is warm, and for all that his voice grates, his touch is tender and soothing, and Lyf has lost enough blood to be able to convince themself that they won’t hate themself later if they fall asleep against his chest, so they do just that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading!! It's going to keep getting stupider and gayer because we like bullying Lyf by literally making people be kind to them.  
> If you want to bully us with kindness, please leave kudos and a comment!! It nourishes our crops, clears our skin, and gives us the right to vote. Take care of yourself! <3


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